


just one taste (and they want more)

by marvelleous



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Chef AU, F/M, Fluff, Part of a bigger series, Phil is a chef, This one really is mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 08:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11870229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelleous/pseuds/marvelleous
Summary: Phil's attention is caught by a beautiful woman dining alone at his restaurant, and naturally, his first instinct is to try and win her affection.





	just one taste (and they want more)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nessnessquik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessnessquik/gifts).



> happy birthday nessie :) may you have lots and lots of rainbows and sunshine and everything pure :)

It isn't often that Phil wakes before his alarm in the morning, but today, he finds himself slowly blinking into consciousness, drawn from his slumber not by the blaring sounds of a machine telling him it was time to get up, but by a movement against his side.

He'd been having such a nice dream too.

Phil frowns for a movement, staring up at the familiar white of his ceiling, mind still clouded over from sleep, trying to figure out why there is something or someone in his bed. Blinking several times, in an attempt to clear both his vision and his mind, he turns towards the centre of his bed, and finds himself face to face with the most glorious sight.

Locks of dark hair are fanned out over his grey pillows, an expanse of smooth skin, bared to the cool morning air, the rest of her form concealed by his matching sheets, and Phil realises that the dreams on his mind were not dreams at all.

Memories, from last night.

 

* * *

 

Phil has always been a lover of romance.

He remembers how his parents had acted around each other during his childhood, and wanted nothing more than to find someone to share his life with, to have the kind of relationship that his mother and father had. Their lives together hadn't lasted nearly long enough, and from a young age, Phil understood the reality of mortality, that time was always going to be against them, quickly running out in the blink of an eye.

All he truly wanted was to experience that feeling, one where you looked upon another person, and knew without a doubt that there was nothing in the world better than being by their side.

He’s imagined it many times, with every woman he’s been in a relationship with, but nothing has ever seemed to be quite right. The rational part of his mind tells him that with seven billion people in the world, he's probably never going to meet “the one”, but he still holds onto the hope that he might find her someday, that she might feel the same way.

 

* * *

 

The one other love in Phil’s life is food, the preparation of it, and seeing the expressions on the faces of those that might taste his creations.

Whilst Sunday afternoons were spent in the garage with his father, tinkering with the old car the man had acquired even before Phil was born, the rest of his free time he chose to be at his mother’s side, watching her cook, begging her to teach him. Even if his parents found it odd that a young boy would rather be in the kitchen than working with machinery, they never commented on it, always supported him in his pursuits.

All of his first recipes were passed down from his mother, and he never had to write them down, knew them like the back of his own hand. They're dear to his heart, and after his mother passed away, he spends weeks on end, replicating them and trying to find the flavours of his childhood.

None of them ever taste quite right, and he eventually comes to realise it's through no fault of his own. He cannot simulate the love his mother had for him, no matter how hard he tries, and things become easier the moment he learns and accepts that.

He files her recipes away in his mind, and moves forward in life, cooking food for others, trying to share the love he has for his family, the love he holds in his heart, wanting to bring joy to friends and strangers alike, creating a sense of happiness with each and every bite.

Through the years of hardships, and the skills he acquires, he begins trying to create more than just one feeling, one emotion through his food. The human mind is capable of imagining so much, and soon he has entire menus designed to evoke various reactions from people. He wants those that taste his food to be able to feel the thought and work going into it, to see, not only with their eyes.

He is a critically acclaimed chef by the time he opens his first restaurant, known to those in the business not only for the flavour of his creations, but also the originality and creativity dedicated to each and every recipe. There are some out there who think him delusional, that food is just food and all other poetics that he waxes about emotions are nothing more than a gambit designed to boost his own popularity.

Most of them change their mind once they have had a chance to taste his food. He isn't saddened by those that do not, but feels rather sorry for them, that they have not been able to truly experience the efforts of his labour.

Phil makes sure that his staff understand, only hiring those who know and wish to aid him in sharing his passion with the world, from the chefs and sous chefs preparing food in the kitchen to the waiters taking orders and delivery dishes. Each and every person who plays a part in the process is important to him, and he will never forget that he owes his success to them.

 

* * *

 

Most people bring their loved ones to his restaurant to eat, others inviting business associates or acquaintances that they wish to impress.

It makes the woman who comes in for dinner alone, all the more noticeable.

Phil sees her from the balcony when she first enters and assumes that her date is just running late. But when she begins to order for herself, his curiosity is piqued, and he takes over the preparation of her meal, wondering why he has been so quickly drawn to her. Her beauty is evident, but Phil has never been shallow about outer appearances, even as he triple checks to make sure her appetiser, a tuna tartare served slices of avocado and a blood orange dressing, is perfect.

He checks that the ingredients for her entree are prepared, before slipping upstairs to the bar where the view of her table was clear. Her expression is entirely neutral as she eats, and he finds himself slightly disappointed, while being completely captivated by her every movement. His gaze continues to linger, even as he makes his way back down into the kitchen, and as a result, he almost knocks over two of his waiters, who seem more amused than annoyed to see him in such a state.

It's difficult to concentrate now, but he does what he does best, and pours his heart and soul into preparing the next dish. In the kitchen, he is in control. He works his knife, ensuring the precision of every cut made, sears the beef until there's a golden crust and the centre is rare. The ingredients are placed almost strategically upon the plate, and with a sprinkle of cilantro and sesame seeds, the garnish is complete.

Phil can see one of his newer waitresses, a young girl named Daisy, approaching, and a feeling of dread washes over him at the poorly concealed expression of annoyance on her face. He waits for her to speak, knowing she's about to deliver a comment from someone, and steadied his hands against the metallic countertop, trying to mask his nervousness.

“The lady at table thirty-three, you know, in the red dress by herself? I asked her how she enjoyed the appetiser, just like I do with everyone, every day, and she just looked at me for the longest time before saying it was fine. Fine. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Fine. His food was fine. It's hardly the worst comment he's received, but just the lack of expression or emotion hits him hard. He nods and gestures weakly to the completed dish in front of him, and Daisy takes it, giving him a look a sympathy before she turns to leave the kitchen.

Maybe the woman isn't wrong. He's a little off his game today, already distracted by her, and now, more than ever, he wants to impress her, to get some sort of reaction from her. Taking a deep breath, he immerses himself into his craft, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the fast-paced kitchen and staff moving around him, concentrating only on each dish he has to send out.

He ignores that Daisy appears to be increasingly agitated each time she returns from serving the woman, knowing that whatever she has to say will only distract him from his work, and allows himself to relax only after she wanders back in looking more relieved than he's ever seen her.

“She didn't order dessert,” is all Daisy says before brushing past him to retrieve an order for another table, and he wonders why he feels so distraught by this.

He doesn't want her to leave his restaurant, dissatisfied with her experience, and that is what he continues to tell himself as he hurries around gathering ingredients for a recipe he hasn't made in years.

His mother’s berry crumble.

The recipe is simple and the dish turns out looking rather crude compared to the other desserts on his menu, but it's one that never failed to make him smile after a bad day, and he wants to see this woman smile more than anything, if only to know that his food has brought her enjoyment.

Wiping off his sweaty palms, he checks his jacket for any random stains, and with his appearance satisfactory, he grabs the dish and makes his way out of the kitchen, ignoring the curious stares from his staff and other customers.

Her table has already been cleared of her last course, and he breathes a sigh of relief that she hasn't left yet, still seated and staring down at her phone. He walks up beside her and carefully sets the dessert down in front her, smiling when he hears her voice for the first time.

“I didn't order that.”

She doesn't even look up at him as she speaks, gaze still trained on her phone, but her voice is so soft despite her tone being firm, and he feels his heart begin to beat a little faster as he speaks.

“Compliments of the chef.”

At the sound of his voice, she finally turns towards him, and he swallows abruptly, upon finally seeing her face up close, the expression in her eyes despite how stoic she appeared from a distance.

He's managed to surprise her.

It's difficult, but he manages to stay still as she takes in his appearance, and he can see a flash of recognition across her face. She doesn't say anything though, only nodding once, and he lifts a hand to scratch the back of his head, trying not to make things any more awkward.

“I'll leave you to your meal then,” he mumbles, turning to leave when a single phrase has him freezing, rooted to the spot.

“No, stay.”

There are a million excuses he can come up with, blurt out without hesitation to drag him away from this situation, but as he turns back and sees her looking up at him, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, they all fade from his mind, the rest of the room disappearing from the edges of his vision.

All he sees is her, and the only sound he hears as he takes the seat opposite her is the beat of his own heart, loud and clear.

 

* * *

 

Her name is Melinda, she writes for a living, and they end up talking for hours.

Well, truth be told, he does most of the talking. She listens and eats and the moment he sees her actually smile, his heart almost stops altogether. The restaurant empties around them and before he knows it his staff is preparing to clean up for the night and he knows they cannot linger here forever.

He stutters over his words when he tries to ask her for her number, and flushes a brilliant shade of red when she smirks and tells him she can write it down for him back at his place. Reluctantly, he asks her to wait for him by the entrance, because he needs to head back into the kitchen to change, and he's so afraid that she’ll be gone by the time he comes out.

She isn't.

He doesn't offer her his arm, because from what he's learnt of her, he doesn't think she’ll take it, and they walk mostly in silence until they reach his apartment, and he ushers her inside. She has her body pressed against his the moment the door is locked behind them, and for a split second he wonders if they're rushing into things, but then he feels her lips on his for the first time, and knows that nothing that feels this good could ever be wrong.

The entire world seems to shift into a stand still and it feels as though time itself has paused to watch the passion between them, the way her nails scratch at the back of his neck, how his fingers become tangled in her hair. For the first time in so long, he tastes traces of the berry crumble he had crafted for her, and it tastes like all that is good in the world.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't need some sign from the universe telling him that Melinda is the woman he's been waiting for all these years, because deep down he knows. It might sound crazy to others but if he ever has a chance to tell their story in the future, he’ll say it was love at first sight for him.

His only fear now is that she’ll regret their evening together and flee from him, never to be seen or heard from again. The thought weighs down on him like a tonne of bricks, and he almost wants to close his eyes when he sees and feels her stirring again, afraid of the expression she might be wearing when she remembers the events that had transpired.

It's a pained smile he wears as she turns, pulling up the sheets to cover her body, looking adorably confused for a moment until she meets his gaze.

She smiles, and all his worries fade away.

They spend the early morning together in bed, just talking and trading kisses and the last thing Phil wants is to scare her off, but he's already forty-two and he doesn't want to wait around for love any longer, not now when he knows that this is the right woman for him.

He tucks a stray curl behind her ear before asking her out on another date, and they seal their promise with a kiss, When they pull apart, she's smiling again, and he doesn't think he's ever been happier than this.


End file.
